morningside:: the foyer

+++ new as of March 22 +++

Here I am amongst you,

and I'm here because I'm here.

And I'm only nine months older

than I was this time last year-I-yaa

wipme-do-ri-ya, wipme-do-ri-ya ...

– unknown Irish ballad, sung in Galway City pub

I began to hunger again for wild sensations, for the escape which those chronicles of disorder alone seemed to offer me. The mimic warfare of the evening became at last as wearisome to me as the routine of school in the morning because I wanted real adventures to happen to myself. But real adventures, I reflected, do not happen to people who remain at home: they must be sought abroad.

– James Joyce, "An Encounter," from Dubliners

Home, sweet home!

••• (The old sod is grand, but 24-hour Chinese delivery ...) •••

Just off the plane, it's 9 a.m. Time for dinner, right?

Your inevitable host, cracking up in a Galway City pub.

Wish I could remember the joke.

This issue of Morningside is an account of my trip to Ireland this month.

The route:

Wednesday, March 7: Flight out of JFK to Dublin, arrive the next morning. Five nights in the city that seeps into the soul, like both scented oil into tired muscles or sewage into mud.

Tuesday, March 13: Train ride across the wastes of the waist, into Galway City, capital of County Galway and the hub of the west.

Thursday, March 15: drive north and west from Galway City, through the Connemara and the Connacht (King Conor country), to Clifden and back in an appropriately rambling manner.

Friday, March 16: drive south and west along the opposite coast of Galway Bay, through Doolin to Liscanoor and Lahinch.

Saturday, March 17, cash-strapped and stir-crazy, we drive through Ennis to Shannon Airport and board a plane a day early and retreat back into the arms of the all-time anonymous American city.

--- The index ---

Days in Ireland: 10

Number of pints drunk: 37

Number of whiskys: 4

Number of photos taken: 136

Number of journal pages filled: 145

Number of breakfasts which included bacon and/or sausage: 7

Number of James Joyce-related sites visited: 8

Number of personal items left behind: 5

(an umbrella, three socks, small copy of the Tao Te Ching)

Haven't gotten around to Issue 7 yet? Don't mean to rush you.

This edition of Morningside is dedicated to my dad, Leslie L. Conner Jr. (he still signs our birthday cards that completely), who's been quietly but palpably green with envy over my journey to the land where motley is worn. Wish my luck could be yours.

The journey:

Recurrent themes:

home  |  remarks
dublin | galway | the west 
 foot & mouth | u2 | gay ireland | words 
 back in nyc



					+++ new as of March 22 +++ Here I am amongst you, and I'm here because I'm here. And I'm only nine months older than I was this time last year-I-yaa wipme-do-ri-ya, wipme-do-ri-ya ... – unknown Irish ballad, sung in Galway City pub I began to hunger again for wild sensations, for the escape which those chronicles of disorder alone seemed to offer me. The mimic warfare of the evening became at last as wearisome to me as the routine of school in the morning because I wanted real adventures to happen to myself. But real adventures, I reflected, do not happen to people who remain at home: they must be sought abroad. – James Joyce, "An Encounter," from Dubliners Home, sweet home! ••• (The old sod is grand, but 24-hour Chinese delivery ...) ••• Just off the plane, it's 9 a.m. Time for dinner, right? Your inevitable host, cracking up in a Galway City pub. Wish I could remember the joke. This issue of Morningside is an account of my trip to Ireland this month. The route: Wednesday, March 7: Flight out of JFK to Dublin, arrive the next morning. Five nights in the city that seeps into the soul, like both scented oil into tired muscles or sewage into mud. Tuesday, March 13: Train ride across the wastes of the waist, into Galway City, capital of County Galway and the hub of the west. Thursday, March 15: drive north and west from Galway City, through the Connemara and the Connacht (King Conor country), to Clifden and back in an appropriately rambling manner. Friday, March 16: drive south and west along the opposite coast of Galway Bay, through Doolin to Liscanoor and Lahinch. Saturday, March 17, cash-strapped and stir-crazy, we drive through Ennis to Shannon Airport and board a plane a day early and retreat back into the arms of the all-time anonymous American city. --- The index --- Days in Ireland: 10 Number of pints drunk: 37 Number of whiskys: 4 Number of photos taken: 136 Number of journal pages filled: 145 Number of breakfasts which included bacon and/or sausage: 7 Number of James Joyce-related sites visited: 8 Number of personal items left behind: 5 (an umbrella, three socks, small copy of the Tao Te Ching) Haven't gotten around to Issue 7 yet? Don't mean to rush you. This edition of Morningside is dedicated to my dad, Leslie L. Conner Jr. (he still signs our birthday cards that completely), who's been quietly but palpably green with envy over my journey to the land where motley is worn. Wish my luck could be yours.

		The journey:



		Recurrent themes:








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